#missing!fic

[crockettmarcel]

wait i was just thinking about missing and sarah and the girls and how they must have been held there by crockett over christmas and just. what was that like?? do you think lolly would’ve known?

sarah never told the girls about christmas. crockett didn’t let them celebrate it, so there was no point telling them about something they might never get. it seemed cruel to get their hopes up

however, sarah could tell from looking out the window how close to christmas it was getting by the lights going up. she’d usually ask crockett to get more clothes or books for the girls, and he’d get something. not a lot, and it was never wrapped, but maybe lolly would get a sweater and harper a onesie. sarah never asked for anything for herself

when they were rescued, sarah told the girls about christmas and santa. harper was too young to understand, but lolly loved it. sarah explained that they were hidden so well that santa couldn’t find them, but now that they were out he’d bring them so many presents. her mom took care of everything

lolly and harper both loved all the christmas lights, and they’d stare at them while they played in the snow. lolly cried when they watched the grinch, but harper loved it. they all helped sarah’s mom decorate the tree, and lolly got to put the star on top

also in a little au that’s been rattling around my brain, sarah and the girls managed to escape one night and hide in a neighbour’s house until they were found in the morning. the neighbours had a christmas tree up, and both girls were fascinated by it. sarah explained christmas to them in the morning while they waited for the cops to show up

[frankierotwinkdeath]

Y’all want Taylor Swift to be gay so bad but you won’t even write femslash about her

[majunju]

cold

[rendevok]

Act I ~ The Prince

A tapestry for Let No One Sleep by @azalawa-scroggs on ao3

[radiance1]

Danny has been reincarnated.

Which was an odd thing to realize, it wasn't even a slow one he just... snapped into it one day. One moment he was staring at a wall out of boredom the next, well, he was staring for an entirely different reason.

It was a task for his now young -he thinks around three years old?- mind to work its way through the memories, but it wasn't like he had much else to do honestly. So, what does he know?

His name is Danny, like, his actual name and not just a moniker. He was once a halfa and he already knows he's going to be missing invisibility and intangibility. He, well, died. For like, a second time which actually makes sense because reincarnation-

Anyways.

He was a clone of two people from this thing called the Justice League which, weird name but probably some government or activist group. Wonder Woman and Superman. Which were pretty weird names to name your kids but eh.

He doesn't really remember much besides that from this life, or the one from before but he's an adult! He'll figure things out once he gets out of this containment tube thing.

Did he mention he was in a test tube? He's a tube baby now. He thinks? Or maybe it's more like he's being contained.

Whatever.

So he breaks out. Thank you apparent superstrength that he has no idea why he has but he's not going to complain! He then wandered around all of the other test tubes, able to remember just enough of English to see that yea, they're dead.

He probably was too, before he had memories zapped into him. Or a vegetable.

He then finds this really big container, checks it out, then opens it because the clone inside isn't dead!

'Project Match' it said. He'll just call him Match.

Was he thanked for helping him? Nope. You would think that he would be thanked or at least somewhat respected for saving this guy but nope!

He was, quite literally, held up by his leg and dangled in the air. Who dangles a three-year-old?! Well, he was technically and adult but still! The next few things were a blur but after pulling off the old Fenton charm he found him and Match outside as he tried to stop him from attacking random people.

Luckily the charms and privilege of the youngest (he's assuming he's the youngest, because he's physically three) was more than enough to get through to him. Sure, the guy couldn't form words, really aggressive for literally no reason, really weird but also absolutely cool looking eyes. But he worked around the first issue by developing their own personal language from like grunts and stuff, the second he once again used his youngest privilege to boss him around and the third a pair of sunglasses easily fixed.

He just had to steer Match clear of those random S crest mark thingies. Which was a weird thing to hate but hey, he's not there to judge.

[pinkmelodie]

König & his demonic back shots are plaguing my thoughts 😣😣

Warnings: 18+, this is pure filth so like yeah🤨 König x female reader, p in v, just a short blurb ୨୧

Cause I know damn well this man would give the FILTHIEST back shots. Like you feel like your being resurrected every time he slams you onto his cock.

“Maus- oh fuuuuck…” He groaned, drilling into you with so much force the bed shook.

You were moaning and screaming into the pillow, your backside being held up completely by him. He manhandled you on his cock like a doll, mindlessly slamming into your cunt over and over like he was trying to fuck the demons right out of his body.

He reached down and circled your waist, holding you up with just one arm. With his free hand he rubbed at your clit, always making sure you feel good no matter how pussy-drunk he is. The man is just so big—it feels like he’s everywhere. If you didn’t know any better you’d assume he was reaching all the way down to your throat. The slight pain of him slamming into your cervix overwhelmed your senses and heightened the pleasure along with the feeling of him playing with your clit. You doubted either of you were making it there after this but you could have swore you saw a flash of heavens gates every time he plunged into you.

He spread your legs wider and angled his thrusts to meet that spongey spot inside you every time his pelvis met your ass with an audible slap ! Even the sound of the headboard slamming into the wall wasn’t enough to drown out both your noises. This was definitely gonna earn you a noise complaint—tho it was worth it for the mind blowing orgasm that washed over you when that coil in your stomach finally snapped.

You came all over his cock, leaving a sticky white ring around the base of it that he couldn’t keep his eyes off of every time he slid his thick cock in and out again. With a pathetic whimper you never thought you’d hear come out of a man of his size, he pressed into you as deep as your body would let him and came hard. 

So much of his seed was stuffed inside you that it began to flow out, dripping all over both of your thighs. Before you could complain, he collapsed on top of you, crushing you with his weight. It felt like being stuck under a city bus, but you just sighed and let him have this one.

[plumadesatada]

just remembered a fic on AO3 (or more likely LJ because it had that distinct late 00's experimental vibe) that appeared double-spaced oddly, in that some paragraphs would be spaced normally and others would have double or even triple spaces in between. it was about one half of the otp getting over the other's death (or coma, can't remember which), so all the comments were about how poignant the use of visual spacing was as a means to convey all the emotional holes in the character's life.

and then the author replied like... *giggle* guys it's NOT double spaced. try selecting the whole text

and we were all like "no WAY"

but we selected the text, and yes!!!

the "holes" in the story? they were actually lines and actions from the dead/coma character's ghost, rendered invisible to the eye by the simple trick of coloring the text the exact same as the background, revealed by nothing more than a click and a drag of the mouse

a story about the profound loneliness of losing your the partner of your life and having to make do without them, without anything to fill the holes they'd left behind, suddenly became a story about the profound helplessness of seeing someone you love suffer from your absence while you are right there, unable to do anything about it, unable to communicate that you love them enough to suffer unseen and unheard with them, just to keep them company they'll never know about

it was then that I truly realized how *superior* the digital medium is to plain printed paper, how the medium and the format can add to a story.

I think about that fic about once a year. I wish I could find it again

EDIT: FOUND IT!!!! UPDATE HERE

[lightasthesun]

Comprehensive Lexicon Guide for First-Time SW Fic Readers:

Flimsi/Flimsiplast = Paper

Flimsiwork/Datawork = Paperwork

Stylus = Pen

Datapad = Tablet

Comlink/Comm = Communication Device/Phone

Binders = Handcuffs

Chronometer = Clock

Spectacles = Eyeglasses

Chrono = Watch

Conservator = Refrigerator

Caf = Coffee

Nerfburger = Hamburger

Blue milk = Milk (literally blue)

Hubba chips = French Fries

Sweet roll = Doughnut

Flatcakes = Pancakes

Tabac = Tobacco

HoloNet = World Wide Web

Holovision/HoloTV = Television

Holodrama/Holovids = Movie/Videos

Holocamera/Holocam = Camera

Holomap = three-dimensional map

Holojournal = Newspaper

Holocube = Picture frame

Holotable = Projector

Holoscanner = X-ray machine

Holojournalist = Reporter

Flatholo/Holograph = Photograph

Sonic Damper = Active Noise Cancellation

Refresher/Fresher= Bathroom

Sonic Bath = Bath

Sanisteam/Sonic shower = Waterless Shower

Hydrospanner = Wrench

Hydro Flask = Water Bottle

Power Cell/Energy Cell = Batteries

Authorization Chip = Decryption key

Datatape = Disk

Datastick = Flash drive

(Personal) Com Code = Phone number

Datachip = SD Card

Synthflesh = Synthetic skin

Glowrod = Flashlight

Sparkstick = Match

Slugthrower = Gun

Slug = Bullet

Vibroblade = a blade that can vibrate at high frequencies, increasing its cutting power and penetrating ability (tactical knife)

Rangefinder = Rifle scope

Turbolaser = Cannon

Ion pike/Vibropike = Spear

Electro Staff = Stun baton

Blaster = Pistol/Rifle

Stun Blaster = similar to a Taser

Landspeeder/Airspeeder/Speeder = Car

Turbolift = Elevator

Slideramp = Escalator

Starfighter = Fighter jet

Rotorcraft = Helicopter

Hoverpack/Jetpack= Jet pack

Speeder Bike = Motorcycle

Skylane = Traffic lane

Railspeeder/Hovertrain = Train

Power Chair/Hoverchair= Wheelchair

Windscreen = Windshield

Podracing = Car racing

Dejarik = Chess

Sabacc = Poker and Blackjack combined

Galactic Rebels = Combat simulator

B'shingh = Dungeons and dragons

Jizz = Jazz music

Wailer = Singer (ie. Jizz Wailer)

Cantina = Bar or Pup

Para Sailing = Paragliding

Aurebesh = Alphabet

Credits = Money

Sleeping Pallet = Bedroll

Naming Day = Birthday

Youngling = Child

Galactic Basic Standard/ Basic = English

Medkit/Medpac = First aid kit

Hypo = Syringe

Medic/Healer = Doctor

Medcenter = Hospital

Bactapatch = Bandaid

Nanoweave = Fabric

Transparisteel = Glass

Plastifoam = Packing material

Durasteel = Steel

Plasteel = Plastic

Duracrete = Concrete

Slicer = Hacker (slicing = hacking)

Identikit = Passport

Minder = Therapist

Synthleather = Vinyl

Viewport = Window

Cooling Unit = Air-conditioning

Honeydarter = Bee

Slythmonger = Drugdealer

Spice = Drugs

Stimpill = Caffeine pill

Power Socket = Plug

Cutters = Scissors

Cycle = Day

Standard Cycle = 24h

Standard Week = 5 days

Standard Month = 35 standard days

Standard Year = approx. ten months

Tenday = literally ten days

Cigarras/Smokes = Cigarettes

Click = Kilometer or 'a moment'

Parsec = a unit of distance

Tweezers/Clanker/tin head/tinnie = Droid

Separatist = Seppie

Promise Ring = Wedding Ring

Body Glove = Jumpsuit

Slicksuit = Wet suit

Civvies = Civilian clothing

Carbonite = a metal alloy used to freeze a person in a state of hibernation

Hyperdrive = device that allows a starship to travel faster than lightspeed

Moisture vaporator = device that can extract water from the air, commonly used on tatooine

Glareshades = Sunglasses

Gasser = Gas Oven

Repulsorlift = technology that can create an anti-gravity field and is used for levitating heavy objects

Heating unit = Heater

Utility Droid = Roomba

Sunbonnet = a Clone trooper helmet

Bad Batcher = a defective Clone Trooper

Banthabrain = birdbrain/ a stupid person

Bantha fodder = waste of space/nonsense

Blast! = word of exclamation

Blasted! = s.o in anger or annoyance

Blaster-brained = dimwitted

Blaster fodder = cannon fodder

Blast off = Piss off

Brainless = Stupid

Bug/Bugger = used to refer to Geonosians

Forceforsaken = godforsaken

Full of Poodoo = full of shit

Poodoo = Shit

Kriff = Fuck

Jedi scum = derogatory term for jedi

Kark = derogatory expletive

Larty = LAAT/i gunship

Laserbrain = insult

Meat droid = derogatory term for Clone Troopers

Redrobes = Palpatines guard

Rookie/Shinie = newly recruited Trooper

Scum = insult to refer to bounty hunters/rebels

Sharpie = Sharp-witted

Sithspawn/Sithspit/Hellspawn! = expletive

Sleemo = Slimeball

Son of a bantha = insult

Wizard! = Cool

Spaced = dead

Hutt-spawn = Bastard

Karabast = exclamation of dismay

Stang = Crap

Buckethead/Bucketbrain = derogatory term for Stormtroopers

Bucket = Helmet

Nat-born = Natural Born

Roger Roger = affirmative/copy that

Droid poppers = EMP grenade

Sitrep = short for situation report

Backwater Planet = any planet that isn't part of the core system

Holocron = device that can project a three-dimensional image of a person/object and is used for communication or entertainment.

Kessel Run = a risky Operation. Commonly used as a metaphor in impossible situations.

Thermal Detonator= device that can create a powerful explosion like a grenade or bomb

Ray Shield/Energy Shield = creates a (protective) barrier

Rebreather = device that allows a person to breathe underwater or in toxic environments

Phrases:

Wild goose chase = wild bantha chase

That's bantha shit = that's bullshit

As slippery as a greased Dug = untrustworthy

Credit for your thoughts = penny for your thoughts

Cut the poodoo = cut the crap

to get your gills in a twist = get upset about something

Holy mother of meteors = holy mother of god

Oh my skies/ Oh my stars = exclamation of surprise

Stars' end! = exclamation of disbelief

What in the blue blazes = exclamation

When Geonosis freezes over/When it snows on tatooine = extremely unlikely

Who pissed in your power supply = who pissed you off

Blast it = damn it

By the maker = exclamation of surprise

Great karking Dragon = expression of disbelief

Lothcat got your tongue = equivalent of 'cat got your tongue?'

Sod it = expression of frustration

[unceeled]

nanami kento never intended for your relationship to be the first page of his newest journal. he didn't even notice when he began documenting it with a black ink pen in a plain leather notebook—writing down the moment you finally agreed to be his, as if you hadn’t been smitten by him from the first time you laid eyes on him.

each passing page became a piece of you. his dilemma on buying you flowers filled the 14th page, and by the 34th, there was a polaroid of you holding your favorite flowers—this time, he knew with confidence. your trips together occupied a few more pages, and even more were dedicated to the places he dreamed of taking you. from losses to love, nanami wrote it all down. it was his best way of keeping you—of keeping what you shared. he wanted your love to remain forever, not only in his heart but also in his hands.

when the wedding bells finally rang and he wore a suit unlike his usual ones, nanami kento stood before you, journal in hand. he read from it, a love documented from the beginning to what felt like the end of the beginning. his vows were written as though he'd known all along that he would marry you. but no, his journal didn’t just record the start of your relationship or the journey leading up to that day.

what nanami kento had not expected was that he would end up documenting your entire story.

as he began the last page with your name, followed by a comma, he wrote down everything he planned for your future together—plans he wanted to set in motion as soon as he returned from his mission. plans he would have given to you immediately after.

"let me take you to malaysia?"

you read over and over again, desperately hoping for more to follow, for another page to turn. but there were no more words. no more pages. and nanami’s voice, his presence, would no longer carry past this page.

yet, it’s hard to be angry with him. because, in the end, nanami was always a gentleman. whether knowingly or not, he left you one final letter—a letter filled with love, just like every page in his journal. because maybe, just maybe, the journal wasn’t for him to keep your love. maybe it was for you to keep his—not only in your heart but in your hands, after all.

[talaok]

Old Man

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel needs glasses but won't admit it, and there's only an amount of teasing a man can take before he decides to show you just how much of an old man he is.

warnings: unprotected p in v sex, creampie, hair pulling, (joel gets a lil rough)

Ellie was the one to start it all,

I mean it's not like you hadn't noticed, but she was the one that started with the jokes.

Not very honorable of you to blame it all on the 14 year old, you knew... but still, just to get the record straight, you weren’t the one to tease him first.

“Gimmie Granpa” she had chuckled one time, grabbing the piece of paper where Maria had written down the recipe for her 'world-famous' casserole from his hands.

"Hey-" He'd protested,

"You can't see shit, man" she giggled, "Stop trying to fight it- you're getting old buddy"

And well from then on things had... escalated.

You'd yet to see a day where the poor man wasn't made fun of because of it, but truth be told, he really did need glasses.

You'd even suggested it to him more gently, in the comfort of your own room, away from Ellie's prying eyes.

"y'know baby, there's nothing wrong with getting glasses"

He'd looked at you as if you'd just told him to go fuck himself.

"Don't look at me like that" you'd smiled, rounding the bed to intertwine your hands behind his neck "It's for your own good"

"I don't need glasses"

"no?" you'd bit down a grin "you sure?"

"'m sure alright" he grumbled

"I bet Tommy would know where to get you a pair if you asked"

"darlin'"

"yes, baby?" you'd asked, hopeful

"I don't need 'em"

And you really did want to keep on trying to convince him, but then he'd kissed you and well- it must have slipped your mind.

Unluckily for him, not for a very long time.

He was in the bathroom, trying, or more specifically struggling, to open a bandaid for your injured finger.

It wasn't anything serious, just a little cut, but as you'd disinfected it, he'd insisted on covering it up, only of course you hadn't expected it to take so long.

"Baby, what's wrong, you can't find them?"

But the answer to your question was right before you as you entered the bathroom.

As I said, he was struggling.

A laugh bubbled up your throat as you took in his focused expression, the frown on his forehead, the squint in his eyes...

"Let me do it"

"No I can do it I just-" he tried to get it open again, failing miserably.

"Joel-" you smiled, walking up to him "let me" you said softly

And with a sigh, he surrendered, handing you the poor, tortured bandaid

"I could have done that" he grumbled as he watched you do it in a split second.

"Sure you could, old man" You grinned to yourself, carefully applying the bandage to your finger.

"What did you just say?"

A soft, breathless gasp fled your mouth-

He'd moved right behind you, and his hands were now on your waist.

"Jesus babe" you laughed,

"What did you say?"

His voice was rough, and his eyes... something had shifted behind his eyes.

You watched his reflection in the mirror before you as you answered

"I said I'm sure you could"

"Mhh" he hummed, his head lowering until he could dive into your neck and inhale your scent "The other thing"

"what other thing?" you feigned innocence, enthralled by his demeanor, by the almost predatorial look in his eyes

"You know what"

"no I don'-"

But you didn't have time to finish, he'd already grabbed you by your hair, pulling your head back until his mouth was ghosting yours

"you called me an old man, darlin'?"

He was a different man from a minute ago.

This was the Joel Miller people feared, the one that killed without remorse, the one that fucked you rough- the once that a sick and twisted part of you revered.

"Baby I was jokin-"

"didn't look like it" he growled, his clothed hard-on pressing into your ass making you whimper, "you think I'm an old man, babydoll?" he murmured, his grip tightening around your hair "I'll show you how much of an old man I am"

Next thing you knew, your upper body was flushed against the sink's countertop, and your shorts were at your feet, together with your panties.

You watched from the mirror as he freed his cock with the hand that wasn't holding you down, and then you felt it-

"will you look at that" he chuckled darkly, the tip of his dick sliding between your folds with ease "you're makin' a mess for an old man, babydoll"

"J-Joel" you whimpered

"no no darlin'" he cooed "You've brought this on yourself- now you're gonna be good and take it, alright?"

When you didn't respond, he yanked your head back, forcing you to look at him through the mirror

"alright?" he bent down, growling in your ear

"y-yes"

"try not to be too loud," he whispered "You wouldn't want people to know how much you like getting fucked by an old man"

You had no time to respond, to tell him how much you didn't care, because he'd already pushed himself fully inside of you, and the only thing you could do was scream.

"you can't help yourself can ya?" he muttered, watching your face contort in all sorts of bliss-induced expressions "The old man gives it to ya too good, 's that it?" he groaned, feeling your walls squeeze around him

"look at me" he ordered, pulling your hair again, making you open your eyes and watch him as he ruthlessly slammed inside of you "Look at the old man who's fuking you, darlin', don't be rude" he grinned

The sound of his skin against yours reverberated through the bathroom, and god it was nasty.

"f-fuck" you tried to speak, tears tarnishing your vision

"I know, I know" he pretended to care, getting up from where he was pressing his torso onto your back, using a hand to get you to remain flush against the sink "I'm going too slow, ain't I?"

Oh shit

Oh fucking shi-

If you thought he was going hard before... you hadn't seen anything.

You couldn't fully create one single thought in your mind as he picked up his pace, as he started literally slamming into you fast and hard enough to break you in half.

"I'm jus' an old man after all babydoll, ain't I?" he breathed, one hand still on your back while the other was still forcing your head up to look at him "You'll understand if I can't fuck you as hard as you'd like" it was like he wasn't hearing how loud you were moaning, how breathless your whines and gasps where each time his dick hit your cervix "what's that?" he mocked "you need it harder darlin'?"

"J-Joel-" you whined, begging, pleading for what you weren't even sure

"shh I got you baby" he cooed, bending down to whisper in your ear again, slowing down his pace just to thrust so fucking deep and hard into you you swore you saw stars "I know my old man's pace ain't enough for you doll"

But it was- Oh it was more than enough.

And yet he didn't care- he was going even harder, even faster, even deeper, and you... you didn't even remember your name anymore.

You could feel the thickness of his cock as it slammed into you over and over and over again, the way it would hit the most hidden spots inside of you, the ones only Joel had only ever been able to find, and then-

And then you could hear his grunts and strangled groans as he fucked you within an inch of your life, as his hair fell to his forehead and tears streamed down your face and your eyes struggled to remain open, struggled to keep on watching him as he fucked you from behind with enough force to break the fucking sink you were on.

Until it got to be too much, until you felt your stomach tighten and the fuse lighting, until he hit that secret spot once again, and all you could do was close your eyes as bliss took over your body, as waves of ecstasy washed over you.

"look at you" he groaned "coming all over an old man's cock" he breathed, your walls squeezing him too good to do anything else but follow suit "letting an old man come deep inside of ya"

It took a long moment for either of you to wake up from the sex-induced haze, but Joel was in much better shape than you, so it was him who came back earlier.

he begrudgingly pulled out, enjoying for a moment too long his own handy work before he helped you up, picking you up bridal style once he realized how useless your legs had become.

"baby" you murmured, before he could place you on the bed "You know I was joking right?" you said, leaning up to kiss him, your mouth catching his in a sweet, gentle kiss that contradicted completely the way he'd just ruined your ability to walk properly

"You're not an old man" you promised

"mh?" he hummed, kissing you again just because he could

"yeah" you smiled, melting into the kiss for what felt like an eternity

He was holding you gently, watching your eyes as they begged to close.

"good" he hummed against your mouth, watching it twist into a devious little smirk as a spark ignited in your eyes

"Although I still think you should at least consider getting glasses-"

"darlin'" he stopped you immediately "I suggest you stop talkin''"

"or what?" you bit down a grin, laughing softly

"Or Tommy's gonna be real mad when you tell him you can't make it to patrol tomorrow 'cause your legs don't work"

[crockettmarcel]

wc: 3823 warnings: therapy, trauma, pregnancy

also available on ao3

Sarah watches the hands tick around the clock on the wall above Dr. Cuevas’ head. Twelve minutes have passed since she last said anything, and she only has to sit through another seven until her appointment is over. Her right leg hasn’t stopped bouncing since she sat down almost an hour ago, and it’s only getting worse now that the end is in sight. She wants to get up and run, but even if she was feeling brave enough to do so, her mom won’t be here to pick her up until three on the dot. She has no way of getting home, so as awful as it is, she has to force herself to make it through the next seven minutes.

Dr. Cuevas asks her something, and she offers a noncommittal hum in response. She doesn’t know what was asked, or what her answer was supposed to be, and she’s not sure if she cares, either. 

There’s a loose thread on the hem of her shorts, and she pulls at it, shifting her focus from the clock to the motion of her fingers. They’re old, the ones she was found in when she and her daughters were finally freed, and she’d been wearing them since long before that. She should hate them, should be desperate to replace them with a brand new pair with no terrible history or holes that get bigger by the day, but somehow she can’t bring herself to get rid of them. 

Six minutes.

She lets go of the thread and shifts in her seat. The fabric of the sofa is itchy against her bare thighs, and there isn’t much she can do about it aside from waiting it out. It’s too warm in here, the heating turned up to counteract the bitter Chicago winter outside, and Sarah can feel beads of sweat forming up by her hairline. She wants to leave.

Next to her on the sofa, Harper flips happily through a cardboard picture book. It’s one with textures - fluffy and scaly and rough and smooth - and she carefully examines each one with her chubby little fingers before turning the page to look for the next. She’ll be okay, everyone had told Sarah. She’s too young to remember the basement. So far, they seem to be right. 

If only it was that easy for the rest of them.

“Sarah?”

Dr. Cuevas’ voice cuts through her thoughts, and Sarah realises she’s been staring at Harper. She glances briefly at the clock, then turns her attention back to Dr. Cuevas.

Four minutes.

“I was just wondering if there’s anything you wanted to talk about today that we haven’t got to yet. If you want more than just the hour, that’s not a problem.”

Sarah’s stomach turns.

“There isn’t- there’s nothing I want to talk about. I don’t want to talk about it.” 

Dr. Cuevas sighs and sets down her notepad on the floor. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t bottle it all up forever. You went through something extremely traumatic, and pretending it didn’t happen won’t make it go away.”

“‘Pretending it didn’t happen’?” Sarah makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a sob, then rests a hand on her stomach. “I have two kids. In less than five months, I’m going to have another. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

“I know, you’re right. I’m sorry, Sarah, I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Sarah nods, and for a moment, the room settles into an uncomfortable silence. The urge to leave is stronger than ever.

Two minutes.

“Look, before you go, I want to suggest something. If you’re having trouble verbalising your thoughts, I want you to try writing them down. Buy a journal, or scribble them on the back of a receipt, whatever you want. Once you’ve written something down, it’s up to you what you do with it. You can bring it with you to show me on Thursday, or hide it away somewhere, or even destroy it. I don’t mind. I just think it could be useful for you to have some sort of outlet, because I know you’re probably dealing with some very scary, uncomfortable thoughts right now. Do you think you can do that?”

“You want me to keep a journal?” Sarah scoffs. “That’s your advice for fixing me? Five years locked in a basement, and all I need to do is journal about it?”

She grabs her sweater off the back of the sofa and pulls it on, then stands up and quickly starts gathering up all of Harper’s things. There’s usually a system for how they all fit in the backpack her mom gave her, but today she just shoves them in haphazardly and zips the bag closed as far as it will go. 

“Sarah, please. Talking about it is only the first step, and I just want you to work on that for now, okay? You’ve only been home for a couple of months. I’m not expecting miracles from you.”

“Well, maybe I want miracles from you.”

Fourteen seconds.

She scoops Harper up and settles her on her hip, whispering reassurances and brushing her face as she does so, then makes her way to the door.

“Sarah—”

“Three p.m. Session’s over.”

She slams the door shut behind her as she leaves, and the bang as it hits the frame is loud enough to startle Harper into crying. Her chin trembles, and before Sarah can even think about trying to comfort her, the tears have started. All of Sarah’s anger from moments before suddenly disappears, and is replaced almost immediately with an overwhelming anxiety.

“Hey, baby, no, it’s okay. Don’t cry.” She bounces Harper on her hip as she walks, but the crying only gets worse.

By the time they get to the elevator, Harper’s wailing, a shrill, ear-piercing shriek that attracts whispers and angry stares from everyone they pass. It’s only one floor down, but Sarah can’t bring herself to inflict a crying baby on anyone who might be there with them, if only because she can’t handle a confrontation right now.

She walks towards the stairs.

Somehow, being back at Med after everything that happened isn’t as difficult as she thought it would be. Enough has stayed the same here that sometimes it’s like she was only away for a few months. On holiday, perhaps, travelling around Europe like she’d always dreamed of. Dr. Cuevas would tell her that this is a perfect example of how she’s pretending nothing happened. 

They don’t pass anyone going down the stairs. It’s a small blessing; Harper’s still crying, and she’s not showing any signs of stopping. Sarah’s ears are starting to hurt, and she’s not sure how long it will be before she’s crying too. 

When they get to the lobby, her mom is already waiting for them on a bench, and Lolly’s sitting at her feet, most of her face covered by a mask that’s slightly too big for her, and completely oblivious to her surroundings as she lines up her toy cars and drives them around. The purple one is her favourite, and as Sarah gets closer, she notices it at the front of the queue of cars.

“Mom!” Elizabeth looks up smiling when she hears Sarah’s voice, but her face quickly drops when she sees her expression. “I told you not to let her play on the floor. It’s dirty, and her immune system isn’t strong enough for it. I don’t want her getting sick.”

Moments like these were to be expected, Dr. Cuevas had explained to Elizabeth months ago when she’d asked what she was going to be dealing with. Anger, hypervigilance, and difficulty with a sense of control are all extremely common after trauma, she’d said. After years of having no control over her life, it wouldn’t be surprising if Sarah either sought out control in any way possible or deferred to her mom for even basic decision-making. The last few weeks had seen a definite shift towards the former.

Elizabeth does her best not to react to Sarah’s anger. Instead, she asks Lolly to come and sit with her, then offers her a blob of the strawberry hand sanitiser she’s started keeping in her bag.

“That’s not enough. She needs to wash her hands.”

Elizabeth takes some of the hand sanitiser for herself and then puts it back in her bag. “It’s fine for now, Sarah, I promise. We can all wash our hands when we get home.”

Sarah nods, then sits down on the other side of Lolly. This wasn’t the reunion she’d been dreaming of when her mom dropped her off for her appointment, and she feels a pang of guilt at the thought that her interaction with her mother might have upset Lolly. She seems okay, but Sarah’s never sure with her, so she leans down to kiss the top of her head and tell her that she loves her.

Harper’s cries start to peter off.

“Do you want me to hold her?” Elizabeth reaches over Lolly to take Harper, but Sarah instantly pulls away. 

“We’re fine. Don’t touch her.”

She nods. “Of course. Sorry.” Sarah looks at her, but she doesn’t say anything. Her expression is almost unreadable, just a blank stare, and it hits Elizabeth that she hasn’t seen her smile once in the months since she was rescued. “Are you ready to go, or do you want to stop to get something to eat? I remember you telling me that the cafeteria here does really good muffins.”

Sarah shakes her head, then crouches down to pick up Lolly’s cars. “I’m not hungry.”

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

With all of Lolly’s toys safely put away in Elizabeth’s bag, they start the short walk to the car. Harper’s asleep now, exhausted from a long morning of looking at pictures and crying in her mom’s ear, and she drools a little on Sarah’s shoulder as she naps. With her free arm, Sarah takes Lolly’s hand in hers, and the pair walk a little behind Elizabeth. Every so often, Lolly will stop and point to something she’s never seen before — a funny-looking lamppost, a really big truck, or a window washer 60 feet off the ground — and each time, Sarah will explain it to her. 

It’s the only time she talks the whole way home.

She ignores all her mom’s questions — “How was the appointment today?” “How are you feeling?” “What would you like for dinner tonight?” — and just stares out the window instead, her focus drawn to the city around them. It changes as they drive, from glass skyscrapers near the hospital to low, wide stores and fast-food outlets, and then eventually the small apartment buildings that signify they’re almost home. It’s getting dark already — sunset is a little under an hour away — and Sarah gazes at the houses they pass on the way to their own, some with lights on inside. There are people visible in most of them, couples, families, friends, and Sarah can’t help but wonder what their lives are like. Are they happy? Are they good people? Are they hiding anything?

She’s sure that there must be someone out there who drove past Crockett’s house and wondered the same thing about him. She imagines him watching a Saints game in his living room with the curtains open, or experimenting with a new recipe and waving out of his kitchen window at his neighbours, projecting the exact image he wanted them to have of him.  

He liked Halloween as well. He’d dress up every year, and probably decorate the house, but Sarah never saw it. If she listened carefully, she could hear chants of “Trick or treat!” coming from upstairs, little kids being chaperoned by their parents and taking candy from a stranger, the one night a year when it was okay to do so. Would they still have done it if they’d known about her? If they’d known who he really was? 

Her chest tightens.

They pull up outside their house less than a minute later, and Sarah’s out of the car before her mom has even had a chance to turn the engine off. She makes her way to the back of the car and unbuckles Harper, then helps Lolly undo her own seatbelt and takes her hand to lead her to the front door. Her keys are in her bag somewhere, and the bitter January wind bites at her bare legs as she rummages around for them. Still, she won’t give up the shorts.

Just as her mom makes her way up to the porch, Sarah opens the door and gently nudges Lolly inside. It’s too cold to be standing outside any longer than necessary, and all Sarah wants, more than anything, is to hide away in her room.

Going out isn’t as scary now as it was when she was first rescued. She hasn’t quite conquered public transport yet, but she’s happy to drive or be driven to places and spend a few hours out with her girls; their favourite thing to do at the moment is going to the aquarium, and Sarah’s considered asking her mom to pay for a membership. 

Even so, she still prefers being at home in the safety of her bedroom. It’s smaller than the basement was, and cozier. Her mom bought the house a year after she went missing, so she could be nearby when (when, not if, she always emphasises) Sarah was found. She packed up the house in Connecticut and brought most of Sarah’s things with her when she moved. Now, they live in her new bedroom. The shelf is filled with books, new and old, and the armchair she inherited from her grandmother sits in the corner with her beloved childhood teddies calling it home. There are some things — trophies, school books, old clothes she hasn’t fit into since she was 13 — that live in boxes in the attic, but everything is still within reach. 

Her bedroom is the one place where she feels some semblance of safety.

There’s a storage bench by the front door, with a dark green cushion on top, and when everyone’s inside with the door shut behind them, Sarah sets Harper down on it so she can help Lolly. Her hand-eye coordination isn’t good enough yet to unzip her coat and boots on her own, and she’s too little to reach the coat pegs on the wall. Two months ago, Lolly didn’t have a coat or a pair of shoes, and somehow, remembering that fact always makes this task a little easier for Sarah.

Once all shoes are off and coats hung up, Sarah takes the girls upstairs. It’s a couple of hours until dinnertime, and she knows they’ll be left alone until then, so she decides the best thing they can do is sleep. She shuts the bedroom door tight behind her, then changes the three of them out of their outside clothes, into outfits that haven’t seen the inside of a hospital yet. 

The bed is big enough for all three of them to lie comfortably, and they cuddle up together the way they used to in the basement. It’s a stark contrast to the way Sarah had spent the last five years sleeping — on a mattress on the floor with a bloodstain in the middle and one limp pillow to share between three — and she has never in her life been more grateful for a normal sized bed and soft, plump pillows. 

Within minutes of lying down, they’re all fast asleep, and they only wake when Elizabeth knocks to announce that she’s ordered pizza and it will be here soon. From then, the rest of the evening follows a normal nightly routine, something Sarah never thought she’d have again.

When the pizza arrives, Sarah sits with her daughters on the floor and shares it with them. Her mom pokes fun at them for having pineapple, so Lolly points at her pizza — Italian sausage, green peppers, and olives — and tells her it’s “yucky”. They talk about everyday things like the weather and the show they watched the night before, and there’s no mention of basements or therapy.

After dinner, Sarah helps her mom clear up, and then she gets the girls ready for bed. She runs a bubble bath for them and fills the tub with toys, something they never had before, and for twenty minutes, she watches as they splash each other and cover the room with suds. They’re happy and giggling, and really, that’s all she wants for them.

They deserve to have a normal life.

That feeling, the feeling that maybe, finally, everything is going to be okay, continues all the way through the girls’ nighttime routine. She thinks about it as she reads them a bedtime story. She wants them to have a normal life, and that’s what she’s giving them. Lolly will probably retain a few memories of the basement, but Harper won’t remember anything. This life, their new life in this new house, that’s what counts. 

It’s only when she’s in bed too that the warm, hopeful feeling is replaced by something else. 

Ignoring the thoughts she’s been trying to suppress all day is harder now that she’s alone in the dark. When she’s out and doing things, she can easily distract herself, whether that’s by looking after her daughters, picking a fight with her mom, or putting all her effort into listening to Dr. Cuevas. Now, though, she has no distraction. Her mind is all over the place, and she doesn’t know what to do with herself.

She tosses and turns for an hour. Her mom’s still awake downstairs, pottering around in the kitchen, and Sarah listens as she pours herself a glass of wine, then makes her way into the living room to watch reruns of Murder, She Wrote. It’s like being seven years old again, just after the divorce, when her whole world was flipped upside down for the first time, and it makes her chest ache. 

After three episodes, Elizabeth packs up and starts on her own nighttime routine. She’s in bed with the lights off in less than half an hour, and then suddenly Sarah’s truly alone. After all that time alone in the basement, she can’t bear it anymore, and she’s desperate for someone, anyone, to be there with her. She can’t wake the girls up — they’ll be grumpy and tired tomorrow if she does — but the sense of isolation gets more and more overwhelming with every second that passes.

The baby shifts, jabbing an arm or a foot into Sarah’s ribs, and her chest tightens at the sensation. Unlike her siblings, Baby is nocturnal, and her movements each night are a reminder of everything that happened and everything she lost. She can’t bring herself to even begin thinking about baby names yet.

She closes her eyes for a moment and takes some deep breaths, a futile attempt at grounding herself, but as soon as she does, she’s back in the basement. Crockett’s moving about upstairs, and she can smell his cooking. He always fed her well when she was pregnant. 

There’s no light coming in from outside, so if Crockett’s cooking when it’s dark, that must mean it’s winter. Nearly Christmas, perhaps? They had some good Christmases, she’s sure of it. Their last one together was good. Neither of them knew it was their last. They almost had one more together, but instead, she spent it hiding away in her room here, and he was God knows where. A cell of some sort, probably, and she almost laughs at the irony of it.

Baby moves again, pulling Sarah back to reality, and she reluctantly opens her eyes. There’s nothing comforting about this pitch-black room, and her mind is racing too much for her to try and sleep. She needs a release.

She’s careful not to wake Harper and Lolly as she gets out of bed, and she stands for a couple of seconds at the edge of the bed to make sure they stay asleep, before tiptoeing across the room to the desk in the corner. There are pens and old notebooks in the drawers, and she rummages around as quietly as possible until she finds something suitable. The notebook is a Moleskine, one she’d bought for her second year of residency but hardly had the chance to use, and she grabs a handful of pens as well, just in case some of them don’t work. 

Harper and Lolly don’t stir.

The en suite is on the other side of the desk, and she slips inside and shuts the door behind her before flicking the light on. It’s bright, too bright, and for a moment, she can only squint as her eyes adjust. When she can open them again, she sits down on the floor, the bathmat soft against the exposed skin of her legs. She briefly looks through the notebook, skimming over the few case notes in there, then flips to an empty page and picks up a pen. 

Everything is loud, she writes. Everything is too loud and too quiet, and I don’t know how to cope with it all. 

People think they know how to help, but they don’t. My mom doesn’t. Dr Cuevas doesn’t. Sorry if you’re seeing this.

She crosses out some words.

People think they know how to help, but they don’t. My mom doesn’t. Dr Cuevas doesn’t. Sorry if you're seeing this. Sometimes, I feel like Crockett is the only one that knows how.

People think they know how to help, but they don’t. My mom doesn’t. Dr Cuevas doesn’t. Sorry if you're seeing this. Sometimes, I feel like Crockett is the only one that knows how. Dr Cuevas    Crockett

Baby kicks, and Sarah rubs her stomach with her thumb in response. Two more kicks, and then she settles.

Crockett doesn’t know about Baby. I’ve been told that’s a good thing. It means there’s no connection there, apparently. But that’s not true. He’s her father. There will always be a connection there. I will always know.

I wish he knew. All I want is one more day. I can’t tell anyone this. Her heart pounds and she takes a moment to pause and blink back the tears burning her eyes. I’m not supposed to want this. He hurt me. I remember it all and I don’t know if I’ll ever forget it. But it wasn’t all bad. We had some good times, and they’re all I can think of lately. I want to tell him about Baby. I want to lie with him on the mattress again while he tells her how much he loves her, the way he did with Lolly and Harper. I think he still loves them. 

I miss the basement. I miss him. I want to see him again. 

I don’t know how to tell Dr. Cuevas this. I don’t think I will.

[bishicat]

I think he actually really wanted to go :(

[rewrittenwrongs]

Talia should swagger into the Batcave without warning and slam down a jar on the table in front of Tim. The jar, of course, contains his spleen. Tim is relieved to see Talia went on the mission he sent her on and thus was not blown to pieces. The spleen jar is both a sort of truce offering and a ‘you are a large threat and I want to stay in your good graces’ gift. Everyone else is confused but Tim refuses to elaborate or even tell them what’s in the jar.

[moondirti]

ghoap x nanny! reader / 18+ / previous ft. surveillance. handjobs. voyeurism. mild s/m. dirty talk.

They check up on you when they can.

Price wasn't exaggerating when he doled out the mission details. It's a tough one. Grueling. The type that necessitates four flights a week and days of little to no sleep, the men fuelled on nothing but a snow-balling urgency to get it done. The target is a slippery fuck, with connections that transport him across the globe at the first sign of conflict. They come close to apprehending him only once, and nothing comes of it but the exacerbated threat of nuclear war as the bastard starts to squeak like a cornered mouse. Gaz has a near constant migraine. Soap stops being fun around the two week mark, exhaustion slowing his tongue. Ghost grows more unhinged with his kills, punching blades through the throats of anyone who dares get in their way.

But still, they check on you.

Isla occupies a quarter of their headspace at all times; half when they don't have to dedicate their focus to the operation. It's the longest they've ever spent away from their girl, the withdrawals hitting them like a bag of bricks. They do whatever's necessary, then, to tune into the nanny cams they have set up around the house, lest Johnny cries about the way her hands dimple when she uncurls a fist again. Or worse – before Simon forgets what tethers him to humanity.

They find the two of you are always doing something.

Which isn't a surprise. You had mentioned your background in early childhood education; they just thought that it'd been a device to impress them. But it's clear that you're eager to put your degree to use when they see you setting up yet another enrichment activity for their daughter and encouraging her to engage.

The first time, they had just arrived on base. It'd been five hours since they've seen you last and already, Johnny had pulled his phone to log onto the monitoring app he had installed.

Sure enough, you were in the same overalls they saw you in last, Isla changed into a fresh pair of pyjamas after her bath. You had her set on her play mat, but replaced the dangling toys for newer, more colourful ones. As she reached for them, you would sound out the shade in a high-pitched voice and grin excitedly when she'd babble back, as if aaaah! meant green.

He felt his heart tug something fierce, caught between endearment and unease at missing out, before getting dressed for debrief.

The third time, you let them know you could tell when the nanny cam is in active use. Not accusatorially, of course – it unfolded in a way too innocent to be anything but a whammy on their part.

They were in a humvee on exfil after being ambushed by the local army – soldiers with blood money lining their pockets, tasked with dispatching the bloodhounds that keep sniffing their patron's trail. Simon had watched a little boy get caught in the crossfire and decided it was imperative to check if Isla was okay, despite her being hundreds of miles away and off anyone's radar.

You're the first thing he saw, carrying the weight of a huge plastic storage container filled with water. In it, there were several rubber animals that inspired a fit of squeals somewhere off screen. You had laughed, a little out of breath, and he remembers the relief that flooded his chest at the dual sounds. Like the cold lick of waves across scorching sand.

As you'd passed by the camera, you stopped and crouched so your face would be in view.

"Isla likes splashing around in the water. I'm thinking of getting her a paddling pool." And you lifted the container as if you would ever need to justify the way you take of their daughter. "Hope you guys are well."

Johnny murmured from beside him. "Forgot aboot th' status light."

The seventh– ninth– maybe twelfth time (having lost count), it was just in time to catch you on your way out with Isla in tow.

They'd tuckered down in a shitty motel, awaiting the next word from Laswell, all four of them in one room. Gaz had been given the bed as consolation for the torn tendon in his knee, and Price had claimed the couch with nothing more than a growl about his back needing it. Thus, Ghost and Soap found themselves on the floor, the latter man tucked under his partner's arm, the other occupied with checking in on the porch feed. The time difference made it so that it was midday where you were.

You were dressed – and Simon recalls it as clearly as the day you met – in a green wrap skirt and tulip hat, their darling girl in a shade of pink that complimented its petals, sat on your hip as you struggled with her buggy. They forgot to give you the run down on unfolding it before they left, too overwhelmed with everything else to pay mind to the little things.

Johnny had jumped for the two-way talk function immediately, tapping on the little mic before clearing his throat.

"There's a latch under th' left arm. Flip it 'n' it shuid unfold automatically."

You jumped, pausing to face the porch cam with wide eyes. "Oh– Oh my god. Haha," Following his directions, you were able to get it open with little fuss. "that is so embarrassing. Pretend you never saw that."

Simon had his balaclava on, uncomfortable with going bare-faced in an unfamiliar room, but Johnny still felt the soft smile splitting his cheeks. Its warmth was unmistakable.

"Nonsense, lass. 'twas cute."

You bloomed at that, wiggling a little in place. Though the flustered moment hadn't lasted long, for Isla's mouth fell open at the recognition of her father's voice, chubby hand reaching out in its direction.

"Bldha! Pffffpp."

"That's right, baby! That's Da." You waddled closer to have her inspect the strange contraption hooked above their mailbox, turning your attention back to them. "We're going on a narration walk! Isla's gotten so good at recognising animals because of them. But it was so nice to hear from you. Isn't that right, sweetheart?"

"Gah!"

Simon locked the phone when neither of them could muster a response, emotion rushing their throats like white-river rapids. Hot tears seep into his side, a pair of misty eyes buried in his ribs.

"I know. I know, Johnny. S'alright. We'll see 'er again soon."

Now, he's made good on his promise.

All three rogue missiles located and dismantled in record time, meaning their slimy target could no longer use them as a shield. He'd been in shackles within the next day, wrangled somewhere in Istanbul and shipped off to a maximum security prison in The Hague. The task force left no loose thread untugged, which took an extra day but will be worth it in the long run. Price promises to reward them with a round, on him.

They're on their way back to base when Johnny tunes in a final time.

He's sure that Isla is asleep by now, confirmed by the baby monitor that focuses on the sprawled form in her cot. It would be best to exit the app and doze off like the other men – lord knows he needs it – but he can't help the itch to look for you too. To click through every channel, his curiosity unquenched, until–

Ah. There.

On the couch, bare legs stretched out along its length. A throw blanket tangled between them, one bent at the knee to support the book you're currently fingering through. The sight alone is enough to make him salivate.

But then he notices the thin material of your top.

Practically translucent. No doubt made for bed. You aren't wearing a bra, either, and the darker shade of your nipples practically flaunts itself through the fabric. They're too soft to protrude and cast a shadow on your breasts, but he's still able to get a good impression of what you would look like nude. Some part of him wilts with guilt at the shameless voyeurism he's subjecting you to.

Another part sends blood to the weight between his legs.

"Bleedin' Christ."

"Hm?" Simon grunts, disturbed by the restless pace of Johnny's heart. His head lifts off his shoulder, blinking warily to clear the silky gossamer of sleep threading his eyelids, before focusing on the grainy footage on his partner's screen.

"Ghost." He whines, hips bucking in desperation when the larger man does nothing. They haven't had the chance to relieve themselves since that night at the motel, and even then it had been a messy frotting as they tried not to disturb their sleeping comrades.

"A'right. Off to the bathroom with you, then."

He doesn't turn off of the live feed even as they cram into the compact space. Though he should. He needs to. Not because you're aware of their surveillance – you're far too engrossed in your book to pay mind to the blinking red light on the nanny cam. But because only depraved men gets off to unsuspecting hens, especially the ones they hired in good faith to take care of their child while they're away.

It's a dirty, dirty thrill that roars through him as Simon wraps an arm around his waist, palming his hard-on through his trousers. And it's a dirty thrill he wants no part of.

"Practically leakin' in your pants, boy. First time you see a pair of tits?" In the small mirror before him, he watches his pants get pulled down past his ass, underwear stained a deeper swatch of blue where his tip spits prespend.

It might as well be the first time, way he's humping Simon's hand like an over-eager mutt. Though he can't manage to choke it out through the rough groans pressing his vocal chords. Instead, what escapes him is a pathetic mess of trembling letters. "S'not... fookin, not– not–"

"Shhh, it's okay. She's jus' so pretty, yeah? Can't help but chub up and beg me to rub your aching cock, wishing it was her darlin' hand wrapped 'round you instead. I know."

"Nn, nae, Sim- Si– I wouid never... Ah!"

It's dry. A little raw. He makes no effort to lube his calloused palm to help it glide easier along Johnny's length, but he knows his boy better than he knows himself sometimes. That he needs pain when he's doing something bad like this, or else he'll lose himself to the guilt. A little bit of penance for the Catholic.

"Don' lie to me. Y'can't. But tha's alright," He pulls the foreskin off the head of his uncut mass, kneading a bit into his frenulum to watch the way white oozes against red. "I think about it too."

"A-Aye?"

"Hm. Think 'bout ya swallowing my cock while I sit 'er on my face. Bet she tastes sweet, like nectar. Jus' look at the thing." Which he does. You're seated a bit differently than you had been before. Less liberal. Wound up tight, with your nose buried in your book and your toes curled beneath your feet. Surely captured by some tense plot line or the other. "Would make you clean her cunt after I pump 'er full. Or vice versa, if she's into tha'."

"Yer a-aff yer heid... Fuck, I cannae–"

"That's it, Johnny. Let go, boy." Simon's strokes keep at the top, tugging in short, rough movements over the phone. The blanket now covers you fully, but it's no matter. The image of your breasts are now seared into both their minds, an array of fantasies unfurling before them, each nastier than the last. "Jus' like that."

Thick ropes of cum streak over the screen and sink countertop. It's weeks worth of pent up frustration, a culmination of despair and desire as a stuttered moan claws up Johnny's throat. The hand leaves his cock only when he starts shooting blanks, clenching tight at the overstimulation.

Simon makes him lick the mess off his palm.

(And unbeknownst to them, they'd hit the mic on their way to the bathroom.

You'd heard the whole thing.)

[demaparbat-hp]

Character design for Katara in Soundless.

[heynhay]

<slides in last minute> i made it to mermay! insp from this lovely piece by @speakswords